Sisters of St. Joseph of
St. Augustine, Florida tell their story in a new book

Sisters of St. Joseph Elect New Leadership Council

Salina, Kansas Friday, February 22,
2008

The Sisters of St. Joseph elected
Sister Marcia Allen as President of their Congregation. Sister
Beth Stover was elected as vice-president and Sisters Anna Marie
Broxterman, Regina Ann Brummel, Jean Rosemarynoski, Judy Stephens
and Mary Jo Thummel were elected as executive councilors. The
council, which begins their term July 1, 2008, will hold office
until July, 2012.

The election, held February 15 at
Nazareth Motherhouse in Concordia, culminated a 20-month Senate
process. During the Senate, as part of their refounding efforts,
the Congregation adopted a new governance model and set the direction
for the next four years with its commitment to nonviolence.

Sister Marcia Allen, a native of
Plainville, KS, will be serving her third term as president.
She previously held that office from 1987-1995. She is currently
on staff at Manna House of Prayer in Concordia.

Sister Beth Stover was raised in
Beloit, KS, and is presently with the North Central-Flint Hills
Area Agency on Aging in Manhattan, KS.
Sister Anna Marie Broxterman is from Baileyville, KS, and is
the vocation director for the community inviting women to become
vowed members.
Sister Regina Ann Brummel, was raised in Boonville, Mo. She has
most recently worked at the White Earth Tribal and Community
College in northwestern MN.
Sister Jean Rosemarynoski grew up in Wichita and Topeka and is
the communications director for the congregation.
Sister Judy Stephens, from Oakley, KS, works in Hispanic Ministry
at Catholic Charities in Salina.
Sister Mary Jo Thummel is also a native of Plainville, KS, and
is a pastoral associate at St. Francis Xavier Parish in Junction
City, KS.
The new council will further the vision of refounding by working
toward a more in-depth response to the demands of the Gospel
and the mission of the Sisters of St. Joseph relative to the
needs of the time.

Sisters sponsor ecology program

Thursday, February 28, 2008
Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

The Sisters of St. Joseph in Baden
will sponsor a series of programs related to ecology and the
environment.

The first program will be The Global
Banquet: Politics of Food, from 10 a.m. to noon March 8 in the
motherhouse, 1020 State St., Baden,

The Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondelet
are hardly alone in finding new lifeblood through associates.
The trend is in full swing, thanks to training programs in dozens
of orders that see passing on their values and mission to laypeople
as essential to survival.

Its a reality that many
orders realize -- that for their ministries and charisms to continue,
they have to empower laypeople, said Peggy Maguire, director
of associations for the Carondelet sisters.

If that mandate is true -- which
dwindling numbers of religious seems to indicate -- then the
face of these orders may look very different in the future.

A two-part study by the Center for
Applied Research in the Apostolate at Georgetown University in
Washington, released in 2000 and 2003, has estimated that close
to 30,000 lay associates are affiliated with a religious order.

But the demographics of the studies,
commissioned by the North American Conference of Associates and
Religious, is more telling. Women outnumber men seven to one.
And younger vowed religious are more likely to work with associates
than older religious.

But perhaps the most important statistic
found in the study was the level of commitment to mission expressed
by the lay associates.

As they gain familiarity with
the religious institute, the report states, 90 percent
of associates report a growing desire to serve others and to
become involved in various forms of ministry.

Lay staffers embrace order's
charism

Associates program blossoms at university
sponsored by sisters
Kansas City, Mo.

When Delany Dean enters her classroom
at Avila University, she has more on her mind than the lecture
she prepared for her psychology students. Like many who have
gone before her at Avila, located in Kansas City, Mo., she is
mindful of the mission espoused by the schools founder
and sponsor -- the Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondelet, St. Louis
Province.

The orders original charge
still applies, to do all the spiritual and corporal works
of mercy of which woman is capable and which will most benefit
the dear neighbor. Dean, assistant professor of psychology,
wants that charism to permeate her work and the work of the entire
school.

Theres a constant presence
in my mind to bring something extra to my students, she
said. When I see an opportunity to bring up the kind of
work CSJs do, I try hard to do so.

This is not a top-down directive.
In fact, its just the opposite.

While the number of Sisters of St.
Joseph of Carondelet has dwindled to a mere handful at Avila,
the orders presence -- its values, its mission and its
guidance -- is increasing. Last year Dean and 10 other faculty
and staff members at Avila became lay associates of the order.

In many ways people who work
here see their work as a form of ministry, said Avila president
Ron Slepitza, one those 11 new associates. To find a way
to affirm that, grow in that, is what we are trying to do. So
the associates program started as a faith-sharing group that
became a more focused way of living the charism of the Sisters
of St. Joseph of Carondelet.

Grass roots

This spring, another seven faculty
and staff members are expected to join as associates after meeting
weekly for the entire school year. The candidates, of which nearly
half are non-Catholic, study the orders history and spirituality
and discuss their own personal growth. Its not a small
commitment and it has surprised even members of the order that
so many are eager to join.

We already considered the staff
here partners in ministry, said Sr. Ruth Stuckel, associate
professor of humanities and performing arts at Avila. We
didnt think to make them associates. A few did it on their
own and got so excited they started spreading the word.

Jeremy Lillig, a 26-year-old graduate
of Avila and a media specialist for the university, was one who
planted the seed by becoming an associate himself two years ago,
under the sponsorship of Stuckel.

It seemed like a natural step
in my spiritual growth to become an associate, Lillig said.
Once I went through the program, I saw how beneficial it
could be for others.

Lillig wrote a letter to colleagues
he felt shared the orders values and spiritual aspirations.
The response went far beyond his expectations.

It was amazing, he said.
Not only did everyone express interest, there was just
such a hunger out there for this kind of community.

It was such an enthusiastic response,
it caught the attention of employees at other Carondolet ministries,
which include eight other universities, as well as high schools
and hospitals.

Ive had other campus
ministers ask me about it, said Dave Armstrong, Avilas
campus minister and a co-leader of the associates program along
with Stuckel. What Ive told them is its a wonderful
and somewhat rare opportunity to minister to faculty and staff
-- and its pretty easy to do.

Right relationship

There is no obvious professional
benefit to the associates program. In fact, Slepitza said it
remains to be seen what institutional outcomes result from this
movement at Avila. Still, he has his hopes.

I think a university that wants
to be successful must really understand what sets it apart,
Slepitza said. The more we say, This is what we stand
for, the better off we are. And when you look at the Sisters
of St. Joseph of Carondelet, the value that is prevalent is right
relationship.

Slepitza is referring to the the
orders statement on social justice: We commit ourselves
to liberation from violence by the promotion of right relationships
within community, with the dear neighbor, and with all creation.

Dean said right relationship begins
for her by honoring the spirit of the Sisters of St. Joseph of
Carondelet.

We can stand and walk with
the sisters in our own versions of their ways of living,
Dean wrote in her blog shortly after her commitment ceremony
last spring, for the benefit of our university and, especially,
our students. We can do so even if there are no sisters walking
beside us in the flesh. They certainly walk beside us in the
spirit, and constantly encourage us.

That spirit is what must thrive in
this modern age, said Peggy Maguire, the orders director
of association and a 30-year lay associate herself. The numbers
are clear about the orders future as a body of women religious.
At its height, the sisters numbered around 1,600. Now the number
is 416. Meanwhile, the associates numbers have grown to 164.

I think its very reasonable
to expect associates to take a more active role in the community,
Maguire said. In fact, associates are already involved
in almost every aspect of the community, with the exception of
the leadership in the motherhouse.

And, of course, right relationship
goes both ways. Armstrong, whose office is now in the former
living quarters of the sisters at Avila, said that many of the
associates and candidates are drawn to the program because the
orders values reflect their own.

For me and for others in the
group, he said, becoming an associate is a way to
publicly affirm what we have already believed and practiced.
Now we do it with the mission of the order in mind.

Many paths

Lilligs and Deans stories
provide similarities and contrasts on how ones journey
leads to becoming an associate.

Lillig grew up Catholic, attended
Catholic schools, and was deeply influenced by the religious
who lived and worked in his schools.

Ive had seven Sisters
of St. Joseph who really had an effect on me, Lillig said.
It started in second grade religion and went through to
Avila, where I discovered my calling to be an empowered layperson
in the church to advocate for social justice.

His time studying theater at Avila
exposed him to one of the core principles of the Sisters of St.
Joseph -- standing up for social justice in all realms of life,
including the arts. The sisters have long been known for their
justice work -- they have marched for civil rights, opposed war
and all forms of violence, advocated for the sick and elderly.

The example inspired Lillig to apply
his interests toward similar causes. While in college he wrote
a play about homelessness that he toured around the area. The
experience led him to form Full Circle Theater Company, which
addresses social justice themes.

Justice was also a key draw for Dean,
55. But her values and causes were well formed before she encountered
the sisters four years ago, when she joined the Avila faculty.

I didnt know any more
about the CSJs than what we were told at the orientation,
Dean said. But once I had a chance to learn about their
history and their values, it was clear I had found a charism
that very much matched my own.

Dean had to turn at several crossroads
before she reached Avila. She was reared an Episcopalian, but
said she was drawn to Catholicism at an early age.

I fell in with a crowd of justice-minded
Catholics while I was in college and they corrupted me,
she laughed. I was just drawn to that spirituality and
eventually joined the church. But I really knew more about Jesuit
spirituality, partially because my parish is Jesuit.

Even her career had to change for
her to reach this stage in her life. Dean served as prosecuting
attorney and later became a defense lawyer before she returned
to school to get a doctorate in psychology, which led her to
teaching. She said the model of the Sisters of St. Joseph of
Carondelet resonates with her life experience -- one where a
deep spirituality and commitment to a more just world go hand-in-hand.

I think Sisters of St. Joseph
live their principles in very powerful ways, she said.
Perhaps they are a little quieter about it than other orders.
But their story is inspirational when you learn it.

An associate makes a three-year commitment
to the order when she or he joins. There is no financial commitment
on either end. Nor is there a prescribed way that associates
live out their commitment to the order.

But in a sense, Dean says, there
is a directive if associates look to the sisters example
of living.

The challenge for us is to
live out our lives the way they live out theirs, Dean said.
When they find people in need, they find the resources
and they tend to that need. We should be doing the same in our
own lives.

They are weighty topics, no doubt,
but these conversations are the life's work of Sister Catherine
Higgins, of the Sisters of St. Joseph in Baden.

"To me, this is a calling,"
said Sister Catherine, a chaplain and hospice social worker for
Celtic Hospice and Palliative Care in Butler County.

After starting her career in education,
she turned to hospice work after caring for her mother during
16 months of illness before her death.

"Those were the best 16 months
of my relationship with her," Sister Catherine said.

"She taught me more in that
time than she did in all the other years of our lives."

Sister Catherine sums those lessons
into a philosophy she calls the ministry of presence. Simply
put, what people, and not just the dying, need most is someone
who is truly present with them, focused completely on them for
just a little while.

Her mother, though she was bedridden,
taught her daughter that lesson during her illness.

"She was really the minister,"
said Sr. Catherine. "She was trapped in that room in so
many ways, but she listened to everyone who cared for her or
who visited her with her total presence."

In response, people opened up to
her mother with their most personal questions or concerns. It
was at her mother's well-attended funeral that Sister Catherine
learned how many lives she'd affected with her quiet caring.

After her mother's death, Sr. Catherine
devoted herself to people who were dying, practicing the ministry
she learned from her mother.

"When a person is terminally
ill, he or she is very vulnerable," she said. "They're
coming to terms with life's questions. 'Is there really a God?
Have I been duped? Have I been forgiven?' "

By allowing the patients to take
the lead in the conversation, She said, finds she can help them
best.

Sister Catherine lives in the order's
motherhouse in Baden. She works for Celtic, which among its services,
provides care for terminally ill people. The Celtic approach
is to treat not only a patient's physical needs, but their emotional
and spiritual needs, Sr. Catherine said.

"Often they come into the program
thinking they're just going to get pain medication, but we come
as a team," she said.

As a social worker, Sister Catherine
makes sure that both the patient and the caregiver have access
to all the resources available to ease a difficult situation.
As a chaplain, she offers her spiritual support.

"Sometimes, when you ask someone
if they want to see a chaplain, they immediately say yes. Other
times, they're wary. But when I walk in there's no judgment being
made at all. This is about knowing God hasn't gone anywhere."

The wary patients may have never
stepped into a church, or feel that it's too late to turn to
a faith that they rejected long ago.

"The more self-reliant the person
is the more difficult it is for them to be so vulnerable and
so needy. If that's the case they're reluctant to ask God's mercy
or forgiveness." Sister Catherine is there to tell them
that it's never too late.

Sister told the story of a man who
would not speak to her on her first visit. His nurses told her
that he'd been asking for her later.

She returned, and he gradually opened
up, telling her he carried guilt for the killing he'd done as
a soldier years ago.

"He presumed he was doomed,"
she said.

Sister Catherine visited him regularly
over the next several months, listening to his stories and helping
him come to terms with his past.

"He told me he really understood
forgiveness at a different level. He died with a prayer on his
lips," she said.

Work with dying patients is not for
everybody, she knows. But anyone can practice the ministry of
presence, and there are many people in need, people who are homebound,
or who have a family member who is sick. People who have recently
lost a loved one or gone through some other emotional trauma,
she said.

To help reach those people, Sister
Catherine has sent a letter to area churches offering her services
as a trainer. She's willing to visit and explain what the ministry
of presence means, and offer suggestions for implementing it
within individual congregations.

A school that bucked the
trends

Canandaigua, N.Y.

The Civil War was in the distant
future when the St. Marys school opened in Canandaigua.
The school has survived hard times during the Depression, an
arson in the 1970s, and most recently the closings of Catholic
schools throughout this region.

But its doors are still open.

In 160 years, there are waves
of up and down times, said Principal Anne Marie Deutsch.
Its like anything in our lives.

St. Marys has been bucking
the trends. The small school behind the big church on Main Street
is growing, with enrollment jumping about 18 percent since Deutsch
became principal seven years ago.

Its a stark contrast to whats
happening over the county line. Two weeks ago, the Catholic Diocese
of Rochester announced the closure of 13 of its 24 schools in
Monroe County. Over the last decade, enrollment in the dioceses
schools has dropped by 45 percent, and the school system is facing
a $1.3 million deficit this year and a $5.3 million shortfall
next year.

Its sad, said Deutsch.
Its sad for the child and the family. Its sad
for my peers.
Deutsch said St. Marys parents were concerned about the
Jan. 18 closing announcement in Monroe County. But they
know that our school is financially and academically strong,
she said.

Of the 7,498 Catholic schools nationwide,
212 consolidated or closed last year. There has been an 11 percent
decrease in enrollment across the country in the last five years,
according to data from the National Catholic Educational Association.

Deutsch said the growth at St. Marys
could be attributed to a population boom in communities like
Canandaigua and Victor. New students are a combination of public-school
transfers, ex-homeschoolers and new moves to the area, she said.
Keeping up with the times doesnt hurt, either.

We have all the accouterments
of any other school, said Deutsch. I dont think
they lack for anything thats in any other place.

Those amenities include interactive
white boards and computers in every classroom. Outside the classroom,
theres the chess club, the bowling club, the knitting club
... And about five years ago, St. Marys added sports teams
at the junior-high level because school officials found they
were losing young athletes to public schools.

Mackenzey Tallman, an eighth grader,
plays basketball, softball and soccer at the school but likes
St. Marys because it has a high academic program.
She said her sister  a St. Marys grad who is now
at Canandaigua Academy  is ahead of her peers academically.
Mackenzey will attend CA next fall, which will be a big change
from the small curriculum.

I just love it here,
she said.

Early days

The school started in the basement
of St. Marys church in 1849. Traditional blue and yellow
jumpers, pressed pants and collared shirts still rule the halls,
but gone are the nuns who once ran the school.

In 1854, the Sisters of St. Joseph
came from Chicago to help the school, and in 1869 they joined
the newly formed Diocese of Rochester. The current school was
built in 1880, with additions completed in 1910 and 1957.

While St. Marys school is part
of the diocese, it is parish-funded. Tuition, which accounts
for about 60 percent of the schools revenues, runs about
$3,000 per student and is on a sliding scale depending on how
many children from one family attend. For the balance, the parish
contributes about 20 percent and fund-raising accounts for the
rest.

The 211 students at St. Marys
are not all Catholic. Part of the schools curriculum includes
mass and Catholic education, but students of all faiths are accepted.
Deutsch said about 15 percent of the student body practices other
religions.

The parents like that theyre
welcomed here, said Deutsch.

Walk through the school hallways
any day and youre bound to see parent volunteers helping
out in classrooms, serving lunch or monitoring recess. Deutsch
estimates that about 1,000 community members help out in a year
in school or at fundraisers. Some are parents or grandparents
and others have children who have already gone through the school.

A family-like atmosphere is what
brought the Coha family to St. Marys this year. Jill and
Tim Coha had to relocate from Michigan to Canandaigua after Will
changed jobs, and Jill said the family had plenty of Catholic
schools in the greater Rochester area to choose from for their
two children.

They settled on St. Marys because
of the attention given to all students. Jill said the church
and school community has made her family feel at home.

I thought it would be miserable
moving, she said. Its been a very smooth transition.

Wendy Cowan, St. Marys gym
teacher, started at the school 26 years ago  right after
college  and never left, even though she admits her salary
is lower than it would be at a public school.

Its like a family,
she said. I love it, I know everybody. Theyre all
my kids.

The school has seen generations of
families pass through its doors. Pam Negley, the school secretary,
was the second of three generations to attend the school. Her
father was a student in the early 1950s, she went in the 1970s,
and one of her sons is in sixth grade. Another son graduated
last year.

Its the top-notch education,
she said. St. Marys is very close to my heart and
my faith.

Bloomfield sister helped
others to see their potential
Pittsburgh Friday, February 15, 2008

During 60 years as a Sister of St.
Joseph, Sister Margaret Berry was filled with compassion for
the less fortunate, always believing that they could improve
their lot in life.

Sister Margaret Berry of Bloomfield,
principal of St. John of God School in McKees Rocks, died on
Wednesday, Feb. 13, 2008, at West Penn Hospital in Bloomfield.
She was 77.

Sister Margaret Llewellyn, who is
a member of the order in Baden, Beaver County, recalled that
Sister Berry was sent in 1990 to Belize in Central America to
supervise a child development center.

"It was in a very poor area,"
said Sister Llewellyn, associate professor at Carlow University
in Oakland. "There were times when it seemed that Sister
Margaret wouldn't have the funds to meet the payroll, but somehow
she could reach out to those who had the ability to help."

Sister Llewellyn said Sister Berry
cared about the spiritual needs of those she helped and "would
take the time to listen, pray and advise them."

Another of her contemporaries, Sister
Sharon Costello, said Sister Berry saw the potential of every
person she met.

"Sister Margaret invited you
to live the potential she saw in you, even if you didn't see
it yourself," she said.

Born and raised in the North Side,
Sister Berry was one of six children of Irish immigrants John
and Bridget McDonough Berry.

They were members of Annunciation
Parish in the North Side.

In the years after her entrance into
the religious life, Sister Berry taught in elementary and secondary
schools in the Pittsburgh and Altoona/Johnstown dioceses and
was an instructor at then-Carlow College.

She served as principal of St. Joseph
High School in Natrona before becoming principal of St. John
of God.

Sister Berry was opposed to physical
punishment for those who misbehaved, Sister Llewellyn said. "She
would ask the offending student to come to her office, where
she would invite them to make amends, read a book and then give
her a book report when they were done."

Although she spent most of her career
in education, Sister Berry assisted Jubilee Kitchen in Pittsburgh's
Soho neighborhood, a ministry to the homeless and hungry.

She is survived by two sisters, Mary
Panneton of Bowie, Md., and Anna Strosser of Philadelphia.

She was preceded in death by a sister,
Elizabeth Berry, and two brothers, Joseph and Jack Berry.

Friends will be received from 1 to
8 p.m. Sunday and from 11 a.m. to 2:30 p.m Monday at the motherhouse
of the Sisters of St. Joseph in Baden.

A Mass of Christian Burial will be
celebrated at 3 p.m. Monday in the motherhouse chapel, with burial
to follow in the sisters' cemetery on the motherhouse grounds.

Newsday (Melville, NY)

July 19, 2003

Centennial Convocation
/ The Sisters of St. Joseph in Brentwood reflect on their mission
and renew their vows

For three days last month,
the Sisters of St. Joseph gathered to mark the orders 100
years in Brentwood. More than 450 nuns came together at the convent
to pray, renew their vows and reflect on their role, and the
needs and challenges of the world. They dedicated a 12-foot "peace
pole," an obelisk with the message "May Peace Prevail
on Earth" on each of its four sides.

The main speaker each day
was Sister Maria Pascuzzi, a biblical scholar and assistant professor
of theology and religious studies at the University of San Diego.
After the closing liturgy on June 29, two of the elder sisters,
Joseph Anita Quinn and Isabel Maria Rivera, sprinkled holy water,
assisted by two younger members in temporary vows Sister Marie
Mackey, who teaches at Mary Louis Academy in Jamaica Estates,
and Sister Susan Wilcox, campus minister at St. Josephs
College in Brooklyn.

The Roman Catholic order
was founded, without cloister or habit, in the 17th century in
France and is known for its ministries in education, health care
and social work, especially to the poor and oppressed. The more
than 800 sisters of St. Joseph of Brentwood serve in more than
240 sites in this country, Puerto Rico and the Dominican Republic.

A daily prayer and additional
information are available on the Brentwood sisters Web
site, www.sistersofstjosephbrentwoodny.org.

Copyright (c) 2003 Newsday,
Inc.

Saint Paul Pioneer Press

November 3, 2001

150 YEARS OF SERVING

SISTERS OF ST. JOSEPH WILL
COMMEMORATE THE ARRIVAL OF FOUR NUNS WHO STEPPED OFF A ST. PAUL-BOUND
STEAMBOAT FROM CARONDELET, MO., ON NOV. 3, 1851

Author: JASMINE KRIPALANI, Pioneer
Press

When the Sisters of St. Joseph began
removing their habits 35 years ago, some traditionalists said
they missed the holy presence. But the sisters of today say it's
still there.

"People emphasized the outfit
and not the work," said Irene O'Neill, who took her final
vows in 1985. "When they got rid of the habit, they peeled
off the things that covered up the fact that everybody in the
world could be living this life. And all it is, is a life of
goodness."

The sisters have led the good life
for 150 years in St. Paul and today will celebrate the arrival
of four Roman Catholic nuns who stepped off a St. Paul-bound
steamboat from Carondelet, Mo., on Nov. 3, 1851. Two weeks later,
they converted the vestry of a log church into a school, and
two years later, they made it a hospital. A century and a half
of service was begun.

The vows have remained the same:
poverty, chastity and obedience. The meaning, however, has changed.

Once, the vows of poverty prevented
nuns from listening to the radio, going to the movies or driving
a car. Today, they mean living simply.

Once, the vows of chastity kept them
from forming close friendships with anyone. Chastity today means
living among a variety of neighbors and developing personal relationships,
although abstinence still applies.

Once, the vows of obedience required
the sisters to live in a communal setting, where they rose, prayed
and ate at the same hour. Now it means listening.

Their lives changed in the mid-1960s,
when the Second Vatican Council relaxed some of the restrictive
policies -- allowing sisters to wear contemporary clothes, occupy
houses in groups of three or four, and drive.

Today, the Sisters of St. Joseph
celebrate their anniversary with a ceremony-by-invitation at
RiverCentre's Grand Floor Ballroom. At noon, the bells will toll
150 times at several churches throughout the Twin Cities and
at one in Carondelet. A public Mass and reception was held in
March.

The sisters can point to 40 ministries
they support in the Twin Cities, including St. Joseph's Hospital,
Cretin-Derham Hall High School and the College of St. Catherine.

"They are surrounded by people
who support them and value each other's growth," Kathleen
Matuska, 46, said of her younger sister's life as a nun. "I've
always told (O'Neill) that I'm jealous of her life as a sister.
I'm kind of joking with her, but I kind of mean it. The nuns
have something that no one else has, which is support from the
community of nuns. I have my husband and kids, and she has a
community."

The nuns dispute many notions, especially
the one about Catholic nuns dying out.

Although nationwide statistics indicate
a steady decline in the number of religious sisters since 1965,
O'Neill points to the fact that their order started with four
sisters in St. Paul and now has 405 nuns plus 55 dedicated volunteers,
known as consociates.

O'Neill's day begins with meditation
and ends with prayer and is filled with visits to various social
service organizations run by the sisters. They include a dining
room for homeless people, a day-care center and a learning center
for immigrants.

At the Peace House in Minneapolis,
about two dozen people on a morning last week sat together in
a circle and sang "This Land Is Your Land." The voices
were mostly from the homeless community who gather there on Franklin
Avenue at 10 a.m. every weekday.

A woman who had painted a red flower
the size of a nickel on her left cheek strummed her guitar. Every
Tuesday is music day. Some waited silently for lunch. One man
slept. Most sang along.

Rose Tillemans, 78, runs the show.
Many call her Ms. Rose or Rose, but few call her Sister. During
the singing session, a man loudly yawns. Tillemans corrects him
by saying, "That was inappropriate."

He apologized.

"It is a day center, and in
it we try to form a community, and the main thing here is respect
for one another, caring and telling our stories in an open forum,"
said Tillemans, who started the center in 1985.

A Cretin-Derham Hall student, Bridgette
Donnelly, visits the group once a week. She is working on her
senior community service project. After each visit, she walks
away with a new perspective.

"Some guy asked me how I was,
and when I asked him, 'How are you?' he said, 'Well, I'm alive,'
" Donnelly, 17, said. "It really ... wow. I have my
comfortable life, and they're living day to day. They don't care
that I have a house, that I have money, and I live comfortably
and have the luxuries that they don't. They're very accepting
and take the uncomfortableness away."

Free food is offered only to sober
diners.

A mile west of the Peace House, O'Neill
meets with Sister Polly Preston, who runs a day care called INSTEP,
licensed for 20 children.

Inside a room at the Calvary Baptist
Church in Minneapolis, the children are watched, held and fed
by Preston and her staff of five.

Here, free child care is offered
only to low-income parents who don't qualify for government programs.
But sometimes a lack of space forces Preston to turn away parents.

"If the church could raise enough
money to buy the next-door property, then we'd have enough space
for 20 more children," Preston said.

This is a place where parents leave
their children for three or four hours while they search for
work, run errands or attend an adult-education program in one
of several rooms upstairs, which is also staffed by the Sisters
of St. Joseph.

About 156 immigrants who have moved
to the United States from places like Ecuador or Somalia spend
an hour to an hour and a half with one of the 15 sisters or volunteer
instructors who teach a variety of subjects from English to computer
skills in a program known as learning in style, offered only
to immigrant students.

"They have the same need the
immigrants had 150 years ago," said Agnes Foley, who started
the adult-education program eight years ago.

Of the 405 sisters from the St. Paul
province, 370 live in the Twin Cities, and 208 are actively involved
in one of more than 40 ministries; 13 work throughout the state;
20 are scattered across the nation; and three work on international
missions. About 160 are retired but continue their work in prayer
and witness.

"You can't work in the church
without knowing about the work of the Sisters of St. Joseph,"
said Fran Donnelly, a Sister of Charity of the Blessed Virgin
Mary who works as co-vicar for religious sisters at the Archdiocese
of St. Paul and Minneapolis. "They, like any religious community,
are affected by shifting numbers, and no matter what the community
holds, they're going to continue using their human resources
and reach out to people in whatever way they can.

"As individuals, (they) see
a need and respond to it, whether it's prison reform or shelters
for abused women. They're going to be there on the front line
responding."

SISTERS ON A MISSION

Eight communities of Roman Catholic
nuns will present a readers-theater panel Nov. 11 to highlight
their century and a half of work in education, health care, social
service, art and spirituality in Minnesota. The program, "Sisters
With a Mission: Women's Religious Communities in Minnesota,"
will begin at 2 p.m. at the Minnesota History Center, 345 W.
Kellogg Blvd., St. Paul. One of the participating orders will
be the Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondelet, who are marking the
150th anniversary of their arrival in St. Paul. Admission is
free.

The Sisters of St. Joseph were established
hundreds of years ago, in 1650, and today, continue the community
work and teaching for which they have been known for so many
years.

But a visit to their motherhouse
on Cambridge Street shows the Sisters, now under brand-new leadership,
are squarely in the 21st century.

And they are very proud of it. Just
ask Sister Mary Murphy and Sister Helen Sullivan, newly elected
members of the congregation's leadership team.

Sister Mary, who just began her six-year
term as president, smiled ear to ear during a recent interview
as she recounted the decision to go high tech. And, Sister Helen,
who has begun her six-year term as an area councilor, eagerly
pointed out details in the newly renovated motherhouse, which
makes it a "green" building.

Going green, looking to the future

In planning the building renovations,
the Sisters were determined to be energy conscious wherever possible,
and in their words, "carry on the vision and work of sustainability."
For example, Sister Helen noted, the wood floors are made of
bamboo, a very plentiful wood; and the double-paned, low-e windows
cut down on transmission of cold or warm air outside and the
heat from direct sun exposure.

In a booklet about the renovations,
the Sisters write, "The motherhouse residences have been
renovated to take full advantage of the latest technology available.
The building products are comprised of many recyclable materials
and nontoxic products." In addition, they have recycled
approximately 92 percent of the materials removed from the motherhouse.

The motherhouse was built in 1963,
and the renovations were completed almost two years ago. Currently,
82 sisters live in the building, and the leadership team and
its support staff work there.

Referring to the new technology,
Sister Mary said the entire motherhouse is wireless. There is
little or no paper used, and everyone is on computers, even senior
sisters, she said. To ensure that everyone uses computers, howto
classes were offered to all the sisters; 130 sisters took the
courses, said Sister Mary.

Ultimately, the new president, who
is a former principal of Mount St. Joseph Academy, said she would
like to see the sisters teach online, especially since so many
of them are former teachers. It just seems like a natural progression,
she said.

Rooted in community

While they are very proud of their
building, the Sisters are equally proud of the work they do in
the community, and the various ministries they accomplish every
day. The Sisters of St. Joseph can be found working in local
parishes, in local schools, at Franciscan Children's Hospital,
at Boston College, at McNamara House in Allston, at St. Columbkille's
and at Mount St. Joseph School.

In fact, said Sister Helen, their
role in the community is very important to them. They have just
completed a Chapter Year, a time in which they meet to discuss
who they are and what direction they want to go in. At the conclusion
of the Chapter Year, they elected their new leadership team,
and also emphasized the fact, said Sister Helen, that "relationship
is at the heart of our mission; relationships are our gift to
the people."

Sister Helen, who joined the leadership
team after several years working at Jackson Mann Community Center
and at Jackson Mann School, said, "It is the Sisters' great
desire to deepen our relationships with the people in this neighborhood,
and to have more interaction with them." One example is
the plan to offer more weekday Masses in their chapel.

"We will continue our original
goal of reaching out to the neighborhood. And we aim to promote
more harmony; that's our gift to the people," said Sister
Helen.

Sister Mary added that the Sisters
are currently conducting focus groups to determine current and
future needs.

Responding to the needs of the time
is part of our mission, said Sister Mary. "We have the energy
and expertise to do that."

Teachers at heart

Sister Helen agreed, and gave as
an example the Sisters who work with the Literacy Connection,
an Allston-Brighton agency that provides tutoring and English
as a Second Language instruction. She said the Sisters' gifted
and extremely advanced educational background are a valuable
asset to the Connection; the Sisters, she said, "are teachers
to their fingertips."

Msgr. William P. Fay of St. Columbkille's
would agree with that assessment.

"Historically, the Sisters of
St. Joseph have been known for their extraordinary presence in
education, and their generosity over the years," he said.

He added that the story of Brighton
and the church couldn't be told without a chapter about the Sisters.

Besides being excellent teachers,
they are dedicated to working behind the scenes, and helping
the church function, Fay said. He credits the Sisters of St.
Joseph for "pointing me in the right direction, and helping
me see that my vocation was the priesthood."

Sister Helen praised the work of
the Literacy Connection, saying that "anyplace, anywhere
a student wants to learn, we will meet them and teach them."
The program has an office but no classrooms; "our school
building is really the whole city, everywhere. We never run out
of space for Literacy Connection students, because we are without
walls," said Sister Helen.

As an area councilor, Sister Helen
is responsible for helping individual sisters find ministry opportunities,
and helping them prepare and train for their ministries.

Does she miss the work she did at
Jackson Mann? "I love my new job, and getting to know the
Sisters better. Now, this is my work," she said. Sister
Helen said she misses seeing the people, including staff and
students, at Jackson Mann, but she knows she is welcome to visit
them anytime. "It's like having the best of both worlds
now," she said.

Besides Sister Mary Murphy and Sister
Helen Sullivan, the other leadership team members are Lee Hogan,
assistant president; Marilyn McGoldrick and Rosemary Brennan,
general councilors; and Brenda Forry and Ellen Powers, area councilors.

Los Angeles Times

THE SISTERS OF ST. JOSEPH:
SURVIVAL IS THEIR MISSION
Author: Alissa J. Rubin
Dateline: ST. LOUIS

During Barbara Dreher's first year
as province director of the Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondelet,
27 elderly nuns died. No young women enrolled to take their place.
Those who remained were in their later years, and the order lacked
the long-term resources to care for them. A mortality study showed
that the 350- year-old order was destined to disappear one day
without a trace.

Dreher's leadership team took drastic
action. They sold property and cut living expenses. They asked
former parochial-school students and hospital patients served
by the nuns to dig deep. They raised enough money to cover the
order's future expenses and build a nursing home for aging sisters.
They even launched a $10 million renovation of their stately
19th-century convent on the banks of the Mississippi, so their
presence will still be felt long after the sisters themselves
are gone.

"Imagine opening up the chapel
to everyone, inviting everyone to come pray with us on Wednesday
evenings," mused Dreher, a trim, energetic woman of 52 who
could easily pass for a corporate executive. "The renovation
enables us to say we're here to stay."

The Sisters of St. Joseph will not
go quietly. Their mission now is survival, and their determination
says much about what it takes these days to lead a religious
life in deeply secular America.

In their long dark habits, white
wimples and black veils, Roman Catholic sisters once were a familiar
presence on America's urban landscape. More numerous than priests
and as fearless as policemen, they did much of their work in
poor immigrant neighborhoods, educating generations of children
in parochial schools, nursing families in Catholic hospitals
and running orphanages.

Today, only 80,000 Catholic women
remain in religious life in America, far below the peak of nearly
200,000 in 1965. Of those who remain, half are older than 70,
a quarter older than 80.

As the sisters have gradually vanished
from the American scene, so, too, has the vast network of social
services they administered. Hundreds of parochial schools that
once served poor neighborhoods have closed, as have orphanages
and other service projects run by sisters. Some of the work is
carried on by secular and quasi-religious agencies, such as Catholic
Charities and Lutheran Social Services. But something has been
lost, in the view of academics and church officials.

"There was something about the
dedication that the sisters brought to their work," said
Sister Andree Fries, director of the National Religious Retirement
Office of the National Conference of Catholic Bishops. "I
don't mean to suggest that laypeople aren't dedicated, too. But
for the sisters, there was a certain passion for the mission."

By the 1960s, the traditional world
of American Catholicism was breaking down. The women's movement
was demonstrating that women could rise in professions once dominated
by men. It was the era of the civil-rights movement, the Peace
Corps and VISTA. Many idealistic young Catholic women saw new
opportunities to serve in the secular world.

And the sexual revolution caused
people to think twice about embracing celibacy. These and other
social changes not only reduced recruits but also triggered an
exodus from convents. Thousands of women who entered in the 1950s
and 1960s simply walked away from religious life.

Dreher swam against the tide. She
was one of five children in a Catholic family. Her father was
a salesman for one of St. Louis's hometown companies, Anheuser
Busch. Her mother was a housewife who later told Dreher she prayed
that one of her daughters would become a sister.

Dreher chose the Sisters of St. Joseph
because they had taught her in parochial school and she found
them spirited and independent.

"They weren't the old barren,
matronly women that people think of when they think of nuns,"
Dreher said. "These were real vibrant, gutsy women."

She took her first vows in 1966,
at the beginning of the convent exodus. She was 18, full of hope,
pride and ambition.

At the time, the order was one of
the most prominent in the Midwest. The St. Louis division alone
had about 1,500 sisters, and branches had spread to cities as
far away as Los Angeles; St. Paul, Minn., and Albany, N.Y.

The order valued education for its
members and paid for Dreher's undergraduate training in elementary
education. The sisters also supported her while she got a master's
degree in religious education at the University of San Francisco
and a second master's in theological studies at the Jesuit School
of Theology in Berkeley, Calif.

But at the same time, Dreher saw
many of her fellow sisters depart for lives in the secular world.

"Some of my best friends left,"
she said. Among the dilemmas faced by sisters was how to think
about celibacy in a world where many of them now dressed as laywomen
and worked alongside men.

"Many of us joined so young
we had never dated. So in the 1960s and 1970s, when the United
States was having a sexual revolution, we were having puppy love,"
Dreher said.

She struggled for several years before
coming to the conviction that she could live a celibate life.

"I still remember the day I
realized I would never have a child of my own. But I've discovered
religious life is ... the way I can give birth."

Through the years, most nuns have
been employed by local parishes as teachers, and most were shockingly
underpaid. Even in the mid-1970s, a teaching job in a parish
elementary school often paid no more than $1,200 a year. Once
an order had paid the utility bills and bought food, there was
often little left to put into retirement savings. And the government
doesn't make up the difference: Retired sisters receive an average
annual benefit of $3,300 from Social Security - one- third the
national average.

Sister Mary Frances Johnson, financial
manager for the Sisters of St. Joseph, said she saw the disaster
coming years ago. "Our community has had actuarial studies
done since the 1970s, but they weren't taken seriously because,
you know, "God would provide,"' said Johnson, shaking
her head.

When Dreher, Johnson and a third
sister, Suzanne Giblin, were elected to the order's leadership
in the early 1990s, they resolved to put their financial house
in order.

Giblin focused on recruiting laypeople
to become adjunct members of the order. That meant they could
participate in some missions without taking vows of chastity,
poverty or obedience. Today, the order has 110 associates - men
and women - who not only work closely on projects with the sisters
but also tend to make generous financial contributions.

Johnson, who has an MBA and a doctorate
in chemistry, concluded that the order needed to sell some of
its property.

To the sisters' relief, Johnson recommended
that the order keep its mother house. But it sold other land
and buildings, freeing up $5 million. Austerity measures came
next. The leaders cut the living expenses allotted for each sister.
They halted sabbaticals and reduced charitable contributions.
In an even bigger departure, they decided to stop paying education
expenses.

Johnson turned the sisters into aggressive
fund-raisers. She got them to track down laypeople they had served
over the years, assembling a sizable list of potential contributors.

"They've found people who were
patients in our hospitals and students in our schools, and now
they are bringing in $2 million a year," she said.

The sisters instituted an auction
that brings in about $100,000 a year. They began sponsoring a
golf tournament that raises about $60,000 annually.

But their biggest gamble was to convert
a convent building into a nursing home and retirement community
for aging sisters.

Retired sisters contribute their
Social Security benefits and any pension income they have, and
the center now operates in the black. More important, it enables
older sisters to live with many of the people they have known
for decades.

The hard work and tough calls paid
off. Johnson invested the order's new funds in the booming stock
market, and the sisters currently have about $100 million in
the bank to help cover future costs. Dreher now feels comfortable
encouraging younger sisters to do the kind of work they believe
in, rather than taking jobs just to earn money for the community.

Still, nothing they have done can
reverse the trends that point toward a day when the order will
have too few members to survive.

When Dreher feels overwhelmed, she
visits the convent's sandstone-walled chapel with its heavy,
dark wooden pews and soaring classical columns. As she walks
the length of the sanctuary, she looks up at the stained-glass
windows for inspiration.

It is here, she reminds herself,
that the Sisters of St. Joseph got their start with just a few
nuns to help the needy, the deaf and the sick. It is here that
they have come together to pray, to make difficult decisions
and to open their convent to neighbors. It is here, she says,
that they still have decades of service ahead of them, and it
is her job to make sure that they - and she - stay focused on
their mission.

"This is where I professed my
first vows," she said. "My perpetual vows."

Copyright (c) 2000 Watertown Daily
Times
Record Number: 0010250305

Allston-Brighton TAB (Needham,
MA)

July 27, 2007

High school students learn
of Sisters of St. Joseph Global Reach

Making connections between issues
of the global village and the spirituality of Congregations of
Sisters of St. Joseph may, at first glance, appear to be beyond
the reach of high school students; however, this endeavor proved
to be life changing when 26 students from Mount St. Joseph Academy
in Brighton and Fontbonne Academy in Milton came together in
New York City from July 11 to 15 with students from schools across
the country sponsored by the Sisters of St. Joseph. The purpose
of their gathering was to deepen their awareness of the gift
of CSSJ spirituality and history and learn of its relation to
the United Nations Millennium Development Goals.

The Congregation of the Sisters of
St. Joseph, a nongovernmental organization in general consultative
status at the United Nations, presented the conference. During
the participants conference, learned more about the mission and
spirituality of the Sisters of St. Joseph and experienced how
it is lived in the context of critical world issues affecting
the global neighborhood.

The conference included daily prayer,
a briefing at the United Nations and presentations by participating
high schools. Additional input included activities and discussion
on topics ranging from CSJ history and spirituality, Catholic
social teaching and the Millennium Development Goals. The time
together provided students of CSSJ secondary schools an opportunity
to meet with each other, work together and return to their schools
prepared to share the CSSJ global vision, mission and spirit
with others.

When asked to comment on the first
day's presentation, Stephanie Vasquez of Mount St. Joseph Academy
said, "When I saw the picture of Earth from the moon, I
realized how small we are and how we have to be so connected
as neighbors locally, nationally and globally. Any one of us
who may ever have felt put down or small or lacking in confidence
now realizes that we are amazing people and we can do anything."

During the next few days others echoed
Vasquez's sentiments. Students spoke of their desire to return
home and make people more aware of what's going on. The conference
offered concrete ways to take action through participation in
the One Campaign; awareness of resources available at www.cyberschoolbus.un.org
which is the United Nations global teaching and learning project;
and time to create their own project to implement at school.

Fontbonne Academy senior Michelle
Murdock has known the Sisters of St. Joseph since elementary
school but never realized that there were Sisters of St. Joseph
all over the country and throughout the world. Many students
were not aware of the global reach of the Sisters of St. Joseph
or the impact the sisters have on world issues through their
General Consultative Status as a United Nations Non-Governmental
Organization. Students spoke with gratitude regarding their schools'
teachings.

Rochester Democrat and
Chronicle (NY)

October 27, 2000

A holy calling celebrates
350 years

The Sisters of St. Joseph face an
uncertain future with hope.

BY STAFF WRITER JAY TOKASZ

Their call has been to unite neighbors
with neighbors and neighbors with God.

In western New York, this has meant
the building of hospitals, schools, parishes and a distinguished
college.

Busy shaping the community for so
long, the Sisters of St. Joseph of Rochester will come together
for a bit of recollection Sunday, when they celebrate 350 years
as a Roman Catholic order.

There will be stories about how the
congregation was founded in LePuy, France, in 1650, how nine
sisters lost their lives in the French Revolution ministering
to the people, how in Rochester they set up 23 Catholic schools
in 20 years at the request of Rochester's education-minded first
bishop, the Most Rev. Bernard J. McQuaid.

For all of this history, however,
the congregation - at least in Rochester - faces an uncertain
future, as the ranks of the sisters continue to shrink and age.

"Religious orders in the past
have risen and declined," said the Rev. Robert F. McNamara,
diocesan historian. "You can look at it hopefully or dejectedly,
but you're not looking at the truth until it comes."

At its peak in the 1950s and 1960s,
the Sisters of St. Joseph of Rochester, the largest order of
nuns in the area, had about 1,000 nuns working in schools, hospitals
and other ministries.

Today, there are 395 sisters, only
258 of whom are in active ministries locally. About 30,000 Sisters
of St. Joseph minister around the world. Currently the congregation
has just one junior sister - who has yet to take her final vows
- and no women committed to joining the order.

The declines have been occurring
since the mid-1960s, forcing the sisters to hand over to laity
many of the ministries they founded.

Despite dwindling numbers, in some
ways the presence of the sisters in the area has expanded. No
longer is their ministry limited to schools, orphanages and hospitals.

And they remain enthusiastic about
the order's ability to remain vital and purposeful.

"We can't continue to say `if
only,' " said Sister Janice Morgan, quoting Trappist monk
and social critic Thomas Merton. "We have to be happy with
the present."

Morgan, president of the congregation,
said the sisters are more energetic and resourceful than ever.

The Sisters of St. Joseph helped
change how nuns fulfilled their commitment to God. Until 1650,
most orders of nuns cloistered themselves to help the world through
prayer.

In the midst of war, famine, poverty
and persecution in pre-revolution France, the Rev. John Peter
Medaille saw a need for a different kind of avowed life in which
nuns serve the people around them, as well as God.

St. Joseph, the "hidden saint,"
became patron of a new congregation that started with six women.

Rather than habits, they wore widows
clothes so they could tend to the sick and poor in public without
scandal.

Nine sisters were martyred during
the French Revolution, and the congregation disbanded until 1801,
when the church was allowed to organize in France again.

The sisters first arrived in the
United States in New Orleans, in 1836, and Buffalo's Bishop John
Timon requested their presence in his diocese in 1854.

Their first mission in western New
York was a school for boys at St. Mary Church in Canandaigua.

When the Roman Catholic Diocese of
Rochester was created in 1868, the sisters became essential in
its growth because Bishop McQuaid required new parishes to have
schools, and he tapped the sisters to run them.

More than 70 sisters still teach,
primarily at the Nazareth schools.

Others minister in lesser known,
but still powerful, ways. Since 1988, sisters Myra Monaghan and
Anne Maura Morris have run Daystar, providing foster care for
babies with serious illness or addictions.

Monaghan likes to tell the story
of a girl, four months premature, who weighed just over a pound
at birth and was close to dying.

She survived and 14 months later,
while in the care of the sisters, began walking. "Her first
sentence was, `I did it,' " said Monaghan. "We often
say, `How little did she know how profound her words were.' "

The order is working on ways to attract
new members, but Morgan acknowledges difficulties. Women, she
said, now feel they can do the ministries without joining the
sisterhood. And a cycle has developed - fewer sisters means fewer
influences on potential sisters.

"It was their example really.
They were caring and loving people," said Sister Jackie
Stephens, recounting her calling while pursuing a nursing degree
at Elmira's St. Joseph Hospital, which was once run by the sisters.
"The visibility element in my time was a big draw."
Stephens, who entered the order in 1961, now runs Sisters Care,
which provides home services to the elderly.

Earlier this year, the order agreed
to sell its motherhouse to neighboring Nazareth College, an institution
the sisters founded but no longer oversee.

That will enable them to build a
new motherhouse that can accommodate more retiring nuns.

But the new house will also include
meeting rooms and administrative offices, for there is still
much work to be done.

"I'm sure there are going to
be new needs. Whatever happens, we seem to be there," said
Morgan.

To meet those needs, however, the
sisters don't plan to go it alone. They have energetically sought
out lay volunteers to assist in their ministries.

"That is one of the ways we're
going to walk into the future," said Morgan.

For more information: www.ssjvolunteers.org

Anniversary

The Sisters of St. Joseph will celebrate
the 350th anniversary of their founding as a Catholic order Sunday.
The day will begin with a morning prayer at 10:30 a.m. and the
lighting of an 1868 oil lamp in front of the historic Saltensall
Street House in Canandaigua, Ontario County.

At 1 p.m., the sisters will then
re-create their journey in the Diocese of Rochester by traveling
from Canandaigua in horse-drawn carriages and vintage cars to
the motherhouse on East Avenue in Pittsford.

From there, they will take a bus
to Nazareth Academy and walk from Nazareth to nearby Sacred Heart
Cathedral for a prayer service, sacred music and dancing, recollections
and a reception in the school hall. The service is expected to
begin at 2 p.m. the reception will follow.

History

Beginning in 1854, the Sisters of
St. Joseph opened 44 schools, orphanages and hospitals throughout
the 12-county Roman Catholic Diocese of Rochester that are no
longer part of their ministries. But the sisters have hardly
disappeared. Here's a look at some of the work the congregation
sponsors today:

Nazareth Schools, prekindergarten
through 12th grade.

St. Joseph's Neighborhood Center
on South Avenue, a health care clinic that serves about 6,000
uninsured or underinsured people a year.

Daystar, a nonprofit foster home
for seriously ill or drug-addicted newborns.

Morning Star, a nonprofit foster
home for children with special needs.

Sisters Care, a program offering
home services to the elderly or homebound.

Sisters of St. Joseph Spirituality
Center, which welcomes guests for prayer and retreat.

Despite their aging bodies, the Sisters
of St. Joseph of Peace are getting out to make some noise in
a quest for peace  and a comfortable place to grow old.

Outside the Seattle mayor's office,
they gather in plush leather chairs. Stomachs growling, books
on the Virgin Mary in hand.

On a 24-hour fast, they are protesting
cuts in the city's human-services budget. Later, they'll head
to a peace vigil in Bellevue to light candles, lift signs and
march against violence. They feed the poor. Nurse the sick. Pray
and nurture their relationship with God.

But the heart of their mission is
this: protesting, letter-writing and agitating for peace and
social justice.

"When I first joined, I thought
I was there to pray and be a good girl," said Julie Codd.
"Then I realized there was a lot more to do."

As they prepare to mark their 50th
anniversary at St. Mary-on-the-Lake, their secluded Bellevue
campus and the headquarters of the West Coast mission, the Sisters
of St. Joseph of Peace find themselves at a crossroads.

Gray hair is turning silver. New
nuns, who flocked to the order in the 1960s, are now a rarity.
Their residence halls need elevators and other pricey renovations
to accommodate aging bodies.

But just like when they arrived in
Washington in the 19th century, the nuns have a plan.

 A capital campaign is under
way to make sure nuns can continue to live out their days at
St. Mary.

 New recruits representing
a rainbow of cultural backgrounds are helping the community to
diversify.

 And despite some members'
creaks and wobbles, the sisters continue to push for peace, a
mission, they say, that can heal the world.

Acres of history

For nearly 50 years, St. Mary-on-the-Lake
has been at the heart of the Sisters of St. Joseph of Peace ministry.

A private drive leads to the 11-acre
Bellevue campus on the shore of Lake Washington, blanketed with
giant cedars and tranquil gardens.

The low-slung wood and brick buildings
house offices, a dining hall, a library and about 30 of the Sisters'
85 West Coast members  most of them retired. Rooms are
modest, with beds, desks and a few mementos.

There are two baths per hall, something
that has become a problem lately for the elderly members, especially
those with wheelchairs and walkers. Stairs also are a challenge
for many.

"These buildings were built
for college-age women," said Judy Johnson, administrator
at St. Mary.

Today, a nun joins the Bellevue order
only about once every two or three years, as opposed to handfuls
at a time decades ago. And many of the new recruits already are
baby boomers  not far from retirement themselves.

It's happening to religious communities
around the country. A recent national study showed there are
fewer than half the Catholic nuns there were 40 years ago.

The community's collective aging
explains the rumble of construction equipment piercing the quiet
outside. An elevator is being installed, along with structural
upgrades that will help the nuns navigate more easily. There's
money for improvements to the first building; sisters hope to
raise the rest.

Inside the main house is a common
room with white brick walls, mission wood furniture and a cane
hooked over the couch. A rock fireplace gives warmth to sisters
as they doze or read. In the next room is a small, unadorned
chapel with a wall of windows overlooking the treetops and lake
beyond. A gong made of recycled metals calls the nuns to prayer.

Nearby, in one of the site's historic
buildings, is the Peace and Spirituality Center, which the nuns
want to modernize in hopes of attracting more groups on retreat.

It's different from what many might
expect in a convent  no soaring stone walls or vast collections
of stained glass. No intimidating echoes. Just simple spaces
filled with women and their history.

A tale of change

A black-and-white photograph on the
wall of the library tells a tale of change.

Twenty-one girls stand smiling in
a row, the oldest 23, most still in their teens. Hair is curled
and topped with veils. Their slender bodies wear wedding dresses
of white satin, beads and lace. The brides of Christ about to
take their vows.

It was 1960, five years after St.
Mary opened. The brides  the community's largest-ever graduating
class  soon took off the gowns and donned identical nuns'
habits.

"That was old theology,"
said Jo-Anne Miller, who was 17 when she entered the order. "To
me, it was a big adventure," she said. "I just walked
out of my bedroom and joined."

Along with the plain clothes, she
got a world of daily silences, formal hierarchical titles and
the serious work of teaching or nursing.

Today, Miller is identifiable as
a nun only by the silver peace cross around her neck. She wears
jeans and does graphic design.

Much of the relaxation in rules,
including the elimination of habits, came with Vatican II in
the '60s.

The church "no longer believes
that nuns should be purer or holier than regular people,"
said Susan Dewitt, director of communications, who joined almost
15 years ago at age 50. Today, she said, a teenager would almost
certainly be turned away.

The nuns are now encouraged to follow
their own interests, said Codd, who entered in 1962. Today, she
advocates on behalf of Native Americans and does watercolors.

Whatever their career, sisters pass
their salaries on to the community and receive a stipend. That,
plus any personal retirement savings, makes up about 55 percent
of the community's $3 million annual budget, with the rest coming
from donations and investments.

Journeying west

It was 1890 when two nuns journeyed
west from New Jersey to Bellingham. Their task: find money for
a hospital in a time when most women didn't travel on their own
and even fewer oversaw business transactions.

They circled the lumber camps for
donations and went to Alaska to beg for gold dust, according
to the group's records. One year later, the nuns opened not just
St. Joseph Hospital  which still operates today 
but a school as well.

That first West Coast success reflects
not just the sisters' determination, but also their distinctly
feminist roots.

The order was founded in England
120 years ago by Margaret Anna Cusack, a Catholic convert born
in Ireland. After immigrating to the U.S., she worked to educate
immigrant Irish women, but faced criticism among some U.S. bishops
for her focus on women's rights. She eventually withdrew from
the order, but it continued.

Today, the order has three provinces,
or chapters  on the West Coast, on the East Coast and in
England. Most West Coast members are in Washington, but there
are also sisters in Alaska, British Columbia, Oregon, California,
Nevada and El Salvador.

Though the nuns have a working relationship
with the Catholic Archdiocese of Seattle, they are not supported
or supervised by the archdiocese.

Their dozens of ministries include
social work, political activism, advocacy for immigrants, Native
Americans and people with AIDS, health care and housing for low-income
women and families.

They believe so greatly in their
causes that some have willingly been arrested.

The most well-known is Miriam Spencer,
who made headlines when, at 76, she served six months in federal
prison for trespassing on government property during a demonstration
in Georgia in 2000.

Codd said her social awakening came
in 1984 in Washington, D.C., when she protested at an arms bazaar.

"I was just shocked," she
recalled. "It was like a party. People were coming in limousines
and fancy clothes to see these weapons of mass destruction."

Looking at the future

More than just their newest member,
Amalia Camacho represents the sisters' future.

As director of religious education
at Bellevue's St. Louise Catholic Church, she's nowhere close
to retiring. With her golden skin, brown hair and seemingly endless
energy, she's a stark contrast to the dozens of frail sisters
in cardigans who slowly walk the halls of St. Mary.

Camacho, 56, takes her final vows
next year. She came to the sisters after living a whole other
life of her own  one in which she was married and raised
a son. Like other nuns, she has a college degree, a master's
in pastoral studies.

During the Vietnam War when her brothers
went off to fight, she found herself grieving for people on both
sides of the conflict. So she protested.

"I supported the troops, but
not the war," she said. The violence of the time still makes
her cry.

Today, Camacho reaches out to the
Latino community, advocates on behalf of United Farm Workers
of America and helps local janitors organize and connect with
God.

It's part of a new focus on diversity
that the nuns are hoping will boost their numbers and help the
community stay relevant even as the bulk of sisters retire. Recently,
Korean, Kenyan and Bolivian women have expressed interest in
joining the order.

"In the '60s it was pretty much
all Irish Catholic or Canadian women who came from the outside,"
Dewitt said. "This is really exciting. For a long time we've
been wanting to branch out, and we're finally doing it."

The Sisters of St. Joseph of Chestnut
Hill, Pa., is one of the largest communities of religious women
- or nuns, as they are called - in the United States.

Some 1,200 strong, they run their
own college and a network of high schools and elementary schools
along the East Coast.

Many of their members hold doctorates
and work in a variety of special ministries and jobs, as well.

Yet in spite of all these accomplishments,
they felt a need to provide more services for the poor, especially
newly arrived immigrants to the United States.

With their motherhouse in Philadelphia
and most of their sisters working there, they opened their Sisters
of St. Joseph Welcome Center there in 2002. Its mission statement
says that it will "offer opportunities that enable immigrants
and others to improve their quality of lives through access to
education, support services and programs leading to self-sufficiency."

With the success of that venture
in such a short time, the community searched for another area,
where their sisters live and minister, to start another program.

And they looked to Bayonne and southern
Jersey City, where they run Holy Family Academy, staff three
Catholic schools and have several convents and residences.

Sister Joan Krukoski, a Bayonne native
and the director of religious education at St. Andrew's Church
in Bayonne for 15 years, took on the task to see if there was
a need in Bayonne and where it could be based.

They discovered that Our Lady of
the Assumption Church in Bayonne, which offers Masses in three
languages, had just hired a bilingual director of religious education
and had surfaced parishioners and residents in need of learning
English.

In October 2003, they were ready
to begin.

"We had a lot of people interested,"
said Krukoski of the 90 people who signed up for the first class
and 80 showed up.

Krukoski serves as a tutor and office
assistant.

The director of the Sisters of St.
Joseph Literacy Program is Sister Kay Coll, 70, another Bayonne
native and certified social worker, who had just returned from
spending three years working in Haiti and now works part-time
with the Haiti Solidarity Network Northeast. She lives in Thea
House in Newark with four other Sisters of St. Joseph.

Coll said that the first group showed
great disparity in their knowledge of English and they were just
interested in getting started so they broke the students up alphabetically.

Later on, the numbers dwindled to
about 40 to 50 who regularly showed up on Mondays and Wednesdays
from 7 to 8:30 in the evening at Assumption's school building,
which no longer functions as a parish school.

Each student is asked to pay $25
for a textbook and workbook, but no one is turned away if they
cannot afford the fee. Most of the students - ages 17 to 70 -
come from Hispanic countries like the Dominican Republic, Mexico,
El Salvador, Honduras and Guatemala, and some from Poland.

Silvia Alvarado, 27, is one of them,
though after just one month of classes, she still prefers to
answer questions in English with the help her husband, Jorge,
a native-born American whose family comes from Honduras.

"I love learning a new language
to communicate with everybody," said Silvia, who eventually
wants to qualify for her GED and then study accounting.

Jorge met Silvia at church in Honduras
several years ago when he visited and they fell in love and communicated
long distance until they married in October 2003. Silvia arrived
in Bayonne six months ago to join Jorge, who works for K-Mart.
He also tutors in the SSJ program.

Leticia Lasso gets special treatment
and one-on-one assistance since her tutor, Sister Margaret Ryall,
cannot get around so easily. So Lasso, 45, commutes each week
to St. Andrew's Convent in downtown Bayonne, which houses active
retired Sisters of St. Joseph.

Lasso, originally from Costa Rica,
where she was a CPA and holds a degree from the Hispano-America
University in Heredia, is married with three children enrolled
in the Bayonne public schools. She loves Bayonne.

"I like everything: the people,
the city, the traditions," she said. She also thinks Ryall
is "very nice."

"She worries that my pronunciation
is better," said Lasso who is learning grammar, pronunciation
and conversation.

The program just started a new semester
Monday so there is time for any one else to register in the program.
They have expanded the number of volunteers assisting with the
program and also hold a second evening of classes, on Wednesdays,
at St. Henry's school building, also closed as regular parish
school.

Right now, they are looking for a
small, permanent space where they could base the operations of
the program, according to Coll and Krukoski. Krukoski said they
have found support in the Bayonne office of faith-based initiatives
at City Hall.

Coll is glad to be back in Bayonne,
which she considers "a special place." From her days
as a student at Holy Family Academy, she noted that there are
population changes and that many stores have left, but she is
hopeful about the new development at the old MOT and loves the
small town feel. Which she has contributed to by welcoming new
waves of immigrants and helping them start their American dream.

Copyright 2005 The Jersey Journal. All Rights Reserved. Used
by NewsBank with permission. Record Number: 050106_FAIT0106_WEB

St. Paul Pioneer Press
(MN)

April 19, 1997

RELIGION SACRED &
SECULAR

A GROWING FLAME//AS THE NUMBER OF
PRIESTS AND NUNS CONTINUES TO DWINDLE IN THE ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH,
A NEW FORM OF RELIGIOUS LIFE IS TAKING ROOT.

LAY PEOPLE, OFTEN CALLED ASSOCIATES,
ARE AFFILIATING WITH SPECIFIC RELIGIOUS COMMUNITIES IN RECORD
NUMBERS TO SHARE THE COMMUNITY'S PRAYER LIFE AND MINISTRIES.
Author: Maja Beckstrom, Staff Writer

Mary Kay Fortier-Spalding met the
Sisters of St. Joseph of Carondelet 16 years ago while volunteering
at a homeless shelter the sisters run in Minneapolis. She was
so taken with their mission and spirit that she quit her job
to work for five years on the shelter's staff.

This year she took her relationship
with the sisters one step further. In a ceremony attended by
more than 100 family members, friends and nuns, she and three
other women pledged their commitment to the community as associates.

``Quite simply I have fallen in love
with you,'' a tearful Fortier-Spalding, 52, told the sisters
at the public commitment ceremony two weeks ago at the Province
Chapel in St. Paul. ``I have fallen in love with your passion
for justice and your spirituality.''

As the number of priests and nuns
continues to dwindle in the Roman Catholic Church, a new form
of religious life is slowly taking hold. Some say it may change
the face of religious orders for years to come. Lay people, often
called associates, are affiliating with specific religious communities
in record numbers to share the community's prayer life and ministries.

They don't take the traditional vows
of poverty, celibacy or obedience. Instead, they promise to live
out the spirit of the religious order in ways that their jobs
and family circumstances will allow.

Numbers are hard to come by. But
according to a 1994 study cited in the newsletter of the Center
for Applied Research in the Apostolate at Georgetown University,
more than 14,500 men and women were affiliated with 212 women's
religious communities in the United States. Men's religious communities
have been less likely to launch associate programs.

The movement started in the late
1970s as convents and monasteries sought to expand their mission
into secular life, and after Vatican Council II encouraged lay
people to become more involved in the church.

``People are looking at religious
communities and saying here is a group whose whole life is dedicated
to the pursuit of God. And I want to be close to that,'' said
Sister Rosemary Jeffries, a Sister of Mercy from New Jersey who
has studied the associate movement for a decade.

``They are seeking ways to deepen
their spirituality. And if you want to be proficient at something,
people are naturally attracted to people who are already proficient
at it. It's as simple as that.''

Every religious community gives their
associates different names and opportunities. Some associates
are simply ``prayer partners.'' Others may join the sisters or
monks for regular worship, retreats or they may donate money
or volunteer at ministries run by the religious community.

Most associates are white, middle-aged
women, although in recent years their ranks have broadened to
include more men, younger people, people of color and even Protestants.

``We don't see them as someday replacing
sisters,'' said Shirley Lieberman, who coordinates the consociates,
as associates are called within the Sisters of St. Joseph St.
Paul Province. ``We see the two groups as a weaving of strands
together to form a new cloth ... ''

``I think this is a really exciting
time in religious communities,'' she added. ``We're kind of the
pioneers creating what the new religious communities are going
to look like in the future.''

Welcoming spirits

Like many consociates, Mary Kay Fortier-Spalding
met the Sisters of St. Joseph while working alongside them. In
1981, she began volunteering at St. Joseph's Hope Community,
a shelter for women and children started by a Sister of St. Joseph
in the Phillips neighborhood of Minneapolis.

``I was always amazed at the energy,
the level of commitment, the centered spirituality, the welcoming
spirits of these women,'' said Fortier-Spalding, a kindergarten
teacher at Expo for Excellence Elementary Magnet School in St.
Paul who lives with her husband in Maplewood. ``They became my
friends, and I started sharing some of my own spiritual journey
with them. As the years moved on, it made so much sense to become
more involved.''

Fortier-Spalding talked about her
desire to become a consociate with Sister Char Madigan, director
of St. Joseph's Hope. Madigan was assigned as Fortier-Spalding's
companion during an informal period of preparation. Before making
her commitment, Fortier-Spalding attended a few sessions on the
history of the order and an assortment of events and forums.

Today she interacts with the sisters
about once a week. She sits on the community's membership committee,
meets regularly with a social justice group of sisters and consociates
and attends special worship services and events.

``Being a consociate encourages me
to look for those places where I am needed, because that is one
of their goals, to get involved with the community and touch
as many people as they can,'' Fortier-Spalding said. The Sisters
of St. Joseph in St. Paul started their consociate program in
1981. Although the consociates do not take vows, donate their
salaries to the community or vote on policy, they are involved
in nearly all other aspects of community life. Consociates sit
on committees that recommend policies, and a consociate is even
a consulting member of the province's governing council. Few
other communities have given their associate members such access
to the community's life, said Lieberman.

``I think because we're so new, it's
like we're searching for our identity of who we are and how we
fit in,'' said Lieberman, who herself has been a consociate since
1987. ``We've only been around since 1981 and the sisters have
been around for centuries. It's like trying to become a blended
family.''

Wishing to be grounded

Unlike the Sisters of St. Joseph,
Benedictine monks and sisters have a long history of lay involvement.
Lay people, called oblates, affiliate themselves with a particular
community. But even this ancient tradition has seen a revival
in recent years. Monks at St. John's Abbey in Collegeville and
nuns at St. Benedict's Monastery in St. Joseph both run decades-old
programs, with about 800 oblates between them.

The sisters at St. Paul's Monastery
in Maplewood started their oblate program more recently, in 1980.
In the last couple of years, more people than ever have called
the monastery to inquire about the oblate program, said oblate
director Sister Carol Rennie. Many were inspired by Kathleen
Norris and her best-selling book ``Cloister Walk,'' which details
her life as a Benedictine oblate. But Rennie thinks there is
more behind the surge in interest.

``People are saying, `I feel so scattered,
I feel so stressed,''' said Rennie. ``Well, most people aren't
going to be able to do much about their hectic life. But they
can become grounded, and they are looking to the Rule of Benedict
as a way to be grounded.''

Oblate candidates at St. Paul's prepare
for a year before making their final commitment. They meet together
three hours every month to study and discuss the Rule of Benedict,
the sixth-century document that still inspires Benedictine life.

Frank Brunnette, a customer service
representative for a phone company, is one of nine people in
the oblate program at St. Paul's Monastery. The group includes
a Lutheran seminarian, a liturgical artist, a hospice administrator,
a masseuse, and a biology professor.

Brunnette, a 42-year-old New Brighton
resident, was drawn to the Benedictine sisters by their regular
prayer life. Although raised Catholic, Brunnette fell away from
the church in his early 20s.

About four years ago, he became enchanted
with the autobiography of Cistercian monk Thomas Merton and wondered
if there was a way that he, a married man with two daughters,
could live out some of the values of monastic life. Pursuing
answers, he took theology courses at the University of St. Thomas.
Then he read about a column about the Benedictine oblates in
a newsletter from St. John's University.

``I had to look `oblate' up in the
dictionary,'' he recalled with a laugh. ``I found out that they
were lay members of a monastic community, and I said, `That's
it! That's what I want.'''

Brunnette will become an oblate in
a ceremony this May. ``My whole outlook has changed,'' he said.
``Prior to this, my faith was pretty immature - you live, you
die and you go to heaven - but God was not really a presence
in my life. Now I have such a sense of this interactive God.
I am listening for God and trying to see him in the simplest
things.''

Prayer has also become a central
part of Brunnette's life. He and the other oblate candidates
pray from the same Psalter used at the monastery. He prays for
20 minutes in the morning and again before bed. ``It really helps
to frame my day,'' he said. ``I feel bad when I miss a prayer.''

Although the associate movement is
still fairly new among many religious communities, observers
feel that it is here to stay. A gathering next weekend in Rochester
of associates and associate directors from a number of Midwestern
religious communities may provide a few more answers to lingering
questions: What will it mean if associates someday outnumber
vowed members? Should religious communities expect their lay
associates to volunteer a certain amount of time to charitable
works? How formal should the preparation period be? How can associate
programs attract younger people?

``There is a tremendous hunger out
there for spirituality, for connectedness,'' said Sr. Patricia
Wittberg, a Sister of Charity who studies new religious communities
as an associate professor of sociology at Indiana University.
``By tapping into this hunger, Catholic communities of women
are providing something that is vitally important. I believe
that hunger is why the associate programs are growing. And I
believe it is too strong a phenomenon not to have a future.''

AN ASSOCIATES SAMPLER

Here is a sampling of religious communities
in Minnesota that have associate programs encouraging lay people
to formally affiliate with the community's spirituality and ministries:

*The St. Paul Province of the Sisters
of St. Joseph of Carondelet started a program for consociates
in 1981 that has grown to 75 members. 690-7001.

*The Rochester Sisters of St. Francis
started a program for cojourners in 1984 that has grown to 108
people. (507) 282-7441.

*The Mankato Province of the School
Sisters of Notre Dame started an associate program in 1978 that
now has 19 associates. (507) 389-4213.

*The Sisters of St. Benedict from
St. Paul's Monastery in Maplewood began an oblate program in
1980 which has grown to 50 oblates. 777-8181.

*The Benedictines at St. John's Abbey
in Collegeville started an oblate program in the mid-1920s that
has grown to nearly 400 oblates. (320) 363-2011.